
Pento
I don’t act from desire, but from necessity
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2024
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This is already going to be water af, but it isn’t really talked about.
When people talk about suicide rates, they simply think about the person killing themself, or perhaps why they did it. What they fail to realize is that eventually that person has had enough and gave up the will to continue living.
Take a look at this graph
Suicide risk sharply increases the shorter a man is. Now ask yourself: how do you think that graph would look for facial attractiveness? Or bone structure? Or body fat percentage? Or balding? We don’t have official stats for that but everyone already knows the answer.
There’s no solid way to measure how looks correlate to suicide, but being laughed at, ignored, or dismissed your whole life for something you can’t control? That eats away at a person. Relentlessly.
And the worst part? If you bring any of this up, they say you’re the problem. You’re bitter. You’re entitled. You’re an incel.
When someone kills themselves, they gave up on the one life they had. That’s how unbearable the pain must have been, that the only chance they’d ever get to live was worth giving up.
Not because they wanted to die, but because continuing like this felt worse.
How is this life even fair, when your genetics dictate everything, how you’re treated, whether you’re loved, how much respect you get, even how likely you are to suffer?
People talk about free will, but it’s all luck.
The fact that you have consciousness right now, that you were born into that face, that body, that social class, it’s pure chance. You didn’t earn it. You didn’t choose it.
And for some people, that luck is a curse they can never escape.

It really is looksmax or death
When people talk about suicide rates, they simply think about the person killing themself, or perhaps why they did it. What they fail to realize is that eventually that person has had enough and gave up the will to continue living.
Take a look at this graph
Suicide risk sharply increases the shorter a man is. Now ask yourself: how do you think that graph would look for facial attractiveness? Or bone structure? Or body fat percentage? Or balding? We don’t have official stats for that but everyone already knows the answer.

There’s no solid way to measure how looks correlate to suicide, but being laughed at, ignored, or dismissed your whole life for something you can’t control? That eats away at a person. Relentlessly.
- Being laughed at for things you were born with.
Big nose? Receding chin? Weak jawline? Your genetics were your first enemy, and society made sure you knew it. - Being invisible to the opposite sex.
Not disliked. Invisible. You watch as everyone else gets affection, validation, attention. You start to feel like a background character in your own life. - Mocked when you speak, mocked when you stay silent.
Try to be confident — you’re arrogant. Stay quiet — you’re weird. No matter what you do, you’re wrong. - Told to “just improve” by people who’ve never experienced true social death.
As if a haircut, the gym, or a new shirt can undo decades of compounded trauma, rejection, and humiliation. - Having to work twice as hard for half the respect.
Better-looking guys walk into jobs, relationships, friend groups. You have to prove your worth at every step and even then, it’s never quite enough.
And the worst part? If you bring any of this up, they say you’re the problem. You’re bitter. You’re entitled. You’re an incel.
When someone kills themselves, they gave up on the one life they had. That’s how unbearable the pain must have been, that the only chance they’d ever get to live was worth giving up.
Not because they wanted to die, but because continuing like this felt worse.
How is this life even fair, when your genetics dictate everything, how you’re treated, whether you’re loved, how much respect you get, even how likely you are to suffer?
People talk about free will, but it’s all luck.
The fact that you have consciousness right now, that you were born into that face, that body, that social class, it’s pure chance. You didn’t earn it. You didn’t choose it.
And for some people, that luck is a curse they can never escape.
It really is looksmax or death